


Hound: Origins

by LectorEl



Series: Hound [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gen, M/M, Ra's is creepy as fuck, Tim has issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason is dead, Bruce is grieving, and Tim knows how to fix this. No matter what it costs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avanalae](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Avanalae), [anexorcist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anexorcist), [Who_First](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_First/gifts).



> Written for two friends on tumblr, after I said I wouldn't. I am easily manipulated, if that isn't already apparent. Written months ago, and wow. My writing's improved since then. I may have to rewrite this.

_“What does my master desire of me?” Hound asked softly, eyes downcast. He knelt at the foot of an ornate chair, holding himself in perfect stillness. His skin was smooth and pale, lacking the wear that came from living. His feet and hands were un-calloused, the skin of his wrists and temples translucent enough that the blue of his veins stood out starkly. The Lazarus pit was not without its side effects. And his master not without his cruelties._

_His master ran his hand through Hound’s long, dark hair, casually possessive. “Such obedience, after a single lesson?” There was laughter, dark and dangerous, in his master’s voice._

_“Perhaps I shall make them a regular occurrence.” Hound whimpered, involuntarily, the taste of fear rising at the back of his throat. His master laughed openly, and stroked Hound’s hair once more. “What do you think?”_

_“If it pleases you,” Hound said subserviently, no trace of his terror in the monotonal passivity of his voice. He was far too well trained for that._

***

Timothy Jackson Drake. Ra’s considered the boy openly, allowing the silence to continue unbroken. The boy was plainly uncomfortable with the open observation, but held himself still under Ra’s’ gaze, waiting for Ra’s to speak. Such a quiet child, unassuming and easily overlooked. Ordinary.

Ordinary enough that the boy could walk into one of their bases and ask to see him before anyone noticed something was amiss. _How intriguing_.

“You had something to ask of me, young detective?” Ra’s said. The boy nodded.

“I do. It was most gracious of you to grant an audience.” Scrupulously polite, and comfortable with the elegancies of courtly speech.

“It would have been quite impolite after the efforts you made,” Ra’s inclined his head the slightest bit. Was the boy blushing? Such a lovely child.

“There is no obligation in others’ desires,” the boy contradicted. “I owe you thanks.”

“Dedication should be rewarded, however. What is it that you seek?”

“Jason Todd was murdered last week.” The boy paused, significantly. “Batman does not appear capable, or willing, to control his grief.” Ra’s reassessed the boy, rapidly. Not ordinary, not in the least.

“This is true,” Ra’s allowed. “And you are assuming I can mitigate this problem somehow?”

Timothy nodded again. “The lazarus pit is said to be named after its ability to resurrect the dead.” That- Ra’s had loyal servants far, far less informed. Extraordinary.

“And should the detective’s son be returned to him, what could I expect in response?” Ra’s asked, curious as to what Timothy would offer. If he could surprise Ra’s again.

“Anything I have to give would be yours.” Timothy laid his hands on the table, palms upward and delicate veins of the wrists exposed. Offering.

“An intriguing offer.” Ra’s grasped one of Timothy’s wrists, resting his fingers over the boy’s pulse. “And if I desired all you had to give?”

Timothy swallowed. “That could be yours as well.”

Ra’s smiled. _Triumph_. “Come, then. We have much to discuss.”


	2. Contract

_(This is the truth: Tim knew what he was risking._

_This is the lie: Tim knew what he was getting into.)_

No court in the world would enforce the contract he and Ra’s write together. It was- nothing, in the end. Nothing, except for everything that matters. The deal written out in black and cream, once in English, once in Arabic. Tim’s life for Jason’s life.

The rest of the terms- the exact method of Jason’s resurrection, the explanations given, the services Tim will provide- are ultimately irrelevant. Ra’s holds all the power in this exchange. The only card Tim has in his hand is his obedience, which is a frighteningly fragile shield to cling to.

Tim sits with his legs tucked under him, and negotiates anyway. These are his last moments as a free person. May fifth, a week and a day since Jason Todd died. Five days since he’d realized what he needed to do. Three since his research showed him what he could negotiate with. Two since he’d said goodbye to Gotham.

“What about the Lazarus pit’s side effects?” Tim asks quietly, eyes lowered. “Neither of us want Bruce or to know of your involvement, and the symptoms are distinctive.”

“There are ways of dealing with that.” Tim nods and murmurs his thanks.

Ra’s lifts Tim’s chin, looking into his eyes. “I find your willingness to sacrifice yourself curious, in light of the lack of recognition you will receive for it.”

Tim glances away. “Batman needs Robin. Gotham needs Batman.”

“And nobody needs Timothy Drake,” Ra’s says, not quite a question. He strokes Tim’s cheek, and despite his efforts, Tim finds himself leaning into the touch.

_(Months could go by without Tim being touched. Though he’s never heard the term, Tim is intimately familiar with skin hunger. Hound will forget what it ever felt like. Years from now, Hound will struggle to explain his loyalty to Ra’s, never knowing how much of it comes from this single moment.)_

“Nobody even knows Timothy Drake,” Tim says, breath brushing against Ra’s’ wrist.

Ra’s chuckles, thumb rubbing over the soft skin beneath Tim’s eye. “Yet you devote yourself anyway. Loyal as a hunting hound.”

“Who else could I devote myself to? There is no one in my life to have my loyalty.” Tim closes his eyes at the stir of ancient hurt over his long abandonment. The past is another country, and he doesn’t live there anymore. “How will my disappearance be explained?”

“A plane crash should suffice,” Ra’s says.

“Over the ocean, perhaps,” he suggests. Ra’s smiles thinly and adds another few lines to the contract they’ve negotiated.

“Alright,” Tim forces himself to say. Enough stalling. “Let’s get this signed.”

The look Ra’s gives him is odd. Something like fondness and pride, a little amused and a lot possessive. Ra’s nods, and passes Tim a heavy fountain pen.

Tim breathes, and sets pen to paper. He signs.

Ra’s rests his hand on Tim’s shoulder, breath brushing against his ear. “You understand what you have pledged, my Hound?”

Ra’s’ loyal Hound. The identity settles over him, and Tim nods. “I do… Master.”

The word is heavy on his tongue, weighted down with consequences and implications. A small part of him protest the term. Tim turns it over in his mind, and smothers it. This is for Jason.

_(This is the lie: Tim knew what he was promising._

_This is the truth: Tim knew the price he was paying. )_


	3. Easiest Thing in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my darling J.

Tim knelt at the foot of Ra’s throne, hands empty in his lap and head bent. _Hound_ knelt. He was Hound now. Ra’s had named him thus, as was his right. Tim- Hound was going to be to be serving him for the rest of his life. It was right, and necessary, that he adapt.

His hair hung in the corners of his vision, long enough that it edged past his chin to brush midway down his neck. It hadn’t been that long when he came here. Right? His memory of life before Ra’s was fading, but he could have sworn it was shorter once. How long had he been with Ra’s, for his hair to have grown so much? It…hadn’t it only been a few weeks?

Ra’s ran his hand down Hound’s neck, scattering his thoughts. Hound closed his eyes and yielded to the gentle pressure. He was rewarded by the brief, easy touch between his shoulder blades.

Forewarned, Hound stood gracefully a few moments after Ra’s rose from his seat. There was a trick to it, bracing heels and using the brief momentum of an downward push against the floor, just enough to let him straighten without ever bending his back or moving his feet.

Hound followed on Ra’s heels, two steps back and one to the right. Another detail to remember, along with the thousands of others that now define his existence. One step extra when there’s a door, like now, so he can slip in behind Ra’s. Ra’s seats himself at his desk, and Hound stands silently off to the side of the desk, waiting for a command

“Sleep,” Ra’s told him, directing him towards the pallet hidden discretely behind the desk. “I’ll have need of you this evening.”

Hound lay down, shutting his eyes against the light. It would be easier if it was dark. But Ra’s required Hound to accompany him everywhere, except when there was a punishment to endure. He learned, so quickly, to fear being alone.

Hound squeezed his eyes shut against tears, and reminded himself once more that he’d chosen this. He fell asleep repeating that to himself.

***

He woke the first time Ra’s said his name. Said ‘Hound’. To do so, consistently, had been one of the lesson he’d learned early on. Ra’s turned and left the study, Hound trailing two steps behind. They turned off the main hallway into the southern wing. The prisoners’ wing. Hound had spent time in this place before. It’s- bad. He bit down on his lip to contain the frightened whimper that threatened to escape.

Ra’s led them past the containment cells, the interrogation rooms, the bloodstained hallway where the executions happen, and turned in to one of the surgery theaters. Hound followed, more afraid of Ra’s’ anger than anything that could possibly be in that room.

It’s small, and dark, with a medical table in the center. And a man strapped down to it, stinking of fear and urine. Hound wrinkled his nose before he could stop himself. Ra’s laughed, darkly, and petted Hound.

“Even the dogs can see your true nature, it seems,” Ra’s told the man, summoning Hound with an imperious gesture. Hound stared at the man emotionlessly. The wounds he had must be painful, but not life threatening. The fuss he made about it seemed rather overdramatic to Hound’s numbed empathy.

“How can I serve, Master?” Hound asked after a moment. Ra’s stepped back to stand beside him, and placed a scalpel in his hand.

“Just do as I tell you,” Ra’s said, and guided him up to the table. Hound swallowed, and took advantage of the positioning to close his eyes for a count of five. He breathed out, and lowered the scalpel until it was an inch from the man’s chest.

“Start by cutting open the skin from the navel to the breast bone,” Ra’s whispered in his ear, his hand heavy on Hound’s shoulder. Hound winced, and began the cut. Blood, bright and gleaming in the near-dark, sprang up behind the glide of the scalpel. He finished the cut, and carefully began the next one under Ra’s instruction.

Hound swallowed back bile as he worked, struggling to keep his face blank. He was just an extension of his master’s will. A tool just as much as the scalpel was. That was all. That was _all_.

Ra’s continued to speak quietly, directly, into Hound’s ear as the cuts grew deeper, more serious. Excising muscle off bone, severing tendons, piercing through the vulnerable skin of the belly to the abdominal cavity.

All through it, the man lived, bleeding and screaming and begging for mercy. Hound shut his ears to the pleas. He was just a tool. Nothing more. Nothing at all.

The moon was high enough to shine through the operating theater’s little window when Ra’s told him to sever the carotid. Just a tool, Hound reminded himself. A tool, _a tool_ , nothing more. Blood flecked his hands and arms as the man gurgled and died.

Ra’s plucked the scalpel from his hand and tossed it aside lightly. He kissed Hound’s temple, and Hound shivered under the touch.

“Exquisite,” Ra’s told him, stroking his cheek possessively. “You have such potential.”

“Thank you, Master.” Hound said, voice subdued. “I live to serve your ends.” It was the easiest thing in the world, to go limp under Ra’s hands. Hound stood motionless as his master petted him, and didn’t let himself think.


End file.
